


i'm at the point of no returning

by middlecyclone



Category: Mamma Mia! (2008), Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again (2018)
Genre: Best Friends, Cake, F/F, First Time, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 22:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15495939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlecyclone/pseuds/middlecyclone
Summary: “We are going to find you a man, my dear,” Tanya declares, and surveys the crowd, looking for a victim.Rosie just buries her head in her hands.“This is a terrible idea.”





	i'm at the point of no returning

**Author's Note:**

> NOT SURE HOW THIS HAPPENED.
> 
> This story contains a depiction of emotional eating of one's feelings, and slight talk of body negativity, on par with what exists in canon.
> 
> Takes place in the middle of Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again, in 1979, immediately after the scene on Kalokairi where Tanya tries and fails to pick up Sam.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Tanya moans around a forkful of baklava, “you were right. This _is_ amazing.”

“I told you!” Rosie chirps, spraying pastry crumbs all over herself. “I told you it helped!”

“I can’t know this,” Tanya tells her sincerely. “I really can’t know this. I _already_ can’t even charm a nondescript youth of unknown wealth, I can’t possibly let the circumference of my thighs increase any more. I’ll never charm anyone again! It’ll just be me, alone, with seventeen cats for company!”

Rosie snorts. “Please, Tanya. Relax. One piece of cake won’t kill you.”

“Well, obviously not,” Tanya tells her, “but I can tell you right now, I am absolutely not going to stop at one.”

“Oh, thank _God_ ,” Rosie mutters, “honestly, I can never keep up with you, you set the bar too damn high–”

She holds up a hand and tries to signal for more cake, but since they’d bought the cake from a stand down the road, and are currently just sitting on a flight of stone steps, it doesn’t really work.

“I just can’t believe it,” Tanya sulks again. “My charm didn’t work! My charm _always_ works!”

“That it does,” Rosie agrees.

“Yours too,” Tanya continues. “I mean, sure, Donna is more or less impossible to compete with, but you should still be able to pull any hot Swede you want to.”

Rosie rolls her eyes at that. “Alright, Tanya,” she scoffs.

“What?”

“Not in this reality, I can’t,” she says. “I mean, look at me!”

“I am looking at you,” Tanya says, sticking her chin out mulishly, “and you look great.”

“No, I don’t!”

“Rosie–”

“Tanya–”

“ _Rosie–”_

_“TANYA–”_

“What do you want me to do?” Tanya says, quirking an eyebrow.  “Shall we prove it?”

Rosie feels herself turn bright red from that, not entirely sure why but blushing nonetheless. “What do you mean, ‘prove it’?”

“Prove that you’re beautiful,” Tanya says, nonchalant, as _if_ that’s an answer, and then she takes one last dainty bite of baklava, before setting her plate down on the cobblestone steps and standing up.

“What are you doing?” Rosie asks.

“I just told you,” Tanya says, rolling her eyes, and holds out a hand. “I’m proving it! Now, up.”

Rosie takes her hand without thinking, and allows herself to be pulled to her feet. “Jesus!” she says, startled. “Your hands are freezing!”

Tanya shrugs her off. “They’re always like that,” she says breezily, “now come on!”

Hand still in hand, Tanya drags her down the winding streets back to the market square, back past the baklava stand and the flower stand and the horribly singing Greek man and his band, and then stops, places her hands on her hips, and nods.

“Yes,” she says brightly, “this _will_ do nicely!”

“What do you mean?” Rosie asks, still confused, and honestly starting to get a headache about it.

“We are going to find you a man, my dear,” Tanya declares, and surveys the crowd, looking for a victim.

Rosie just buries her head in her hands.

“This is a _terrible_ idea,” she says, muffled.

“Nonsense,” Tanya says breezily. “There’s plenty of–okay, well, you know, the selection is a bit thin on the ground, but no matter! We will find you someone!”

“I don’t want _someone_ ,” Rosie whines. “I want Bill the boat man, and I have never wanted anyone else before, and I will never want anyone else again!”

“Never?” Tanya says skeptically. “Really, _never_?”

“Please, can’t we just go eat some more cake?”

Tanya ignores her, and shoots a hand out to grab a handsome passerby.

“You! Hey!” she says, brash at first, and then remembers to flirt properly, looking up at him through her long dark lashes. “Hello there,” she purrs, and the stranger blinks, looking rather as though he’s been hit by a bus.

He _is_ rather attractive, Rosie thinks, although his jacket is too short in the body _and_ in the wrists, and his hair is a bit stupid. But he has nice eyes, and nice features, even if they’re currently twisted in a flustered expression of complete bemusement.

“Do I know you?” he asks.

“Not yet,” Tanya says, “but you will,” and then she remembers again that she’s not flirting for herself, and she straightens back up, her back going ramrod-stiff, her voice going back to crisp business. “Actually, I had a question. My friend here–”

“Hello,” Rosie says weakly, embarrassed beyond belief.

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

The stranger goes even more flustered, somehow, which Rosie honestly hadn’t thought was possible. “I–well–maybe, that is to say, I suppose, technically–”

Rosie buries her face in her hands again. “Tanya, stop,” she says plaintively. “This is horrible.”

Tanya doesn’t seem all too happy with her decisions right now, either. “How hard is it to just say ‘yes’?” she asks him. “It’s not that hard! She’s very pretty! It’s not complicated!”

The stranger just twists his hands together. “I’m sorry,” he says, “it’s just–I’m looking for someone, actually. A girl, about your age? Blonde, named Donna?”

“Oh, you have _got_ to be joking,” Tanya sighs.

“She’s not here!” Rosie snaps. “She’s on a boat with the love of my life, so just–just leave! You don’t have half a chance!”

Tanya winces. “Rosie,” she starts, but she ignores her.

“She’s going to marry him, and have half a dozen beautiful blonde children, because he’s beautiful and blonde and she’s beautiful and blonde and that’s what beautiful blonde people do! And you and me are just, just, just going to be not blonde and not beautiful and die alone, because that’s what not blonde and not beautiful people do!”

The boy is edging away, looking terrified. Rosie lets him. She’s yelled at enough people for one afternoon.

“Rosie, if you feel that way you can always dye your hair,” Tanya says sagely, not even noticing his exit.

“I don’t want to dye my hair!” Rosie snaps. “I want him to love me all on his own!” She feels horrible, twitchy and sad empty inside and all she wants to do is scream, but instead she just leans over and grabs a dish of small, round, sticky cakes from a nearby vendor and shoves two in her mouth at once.

“That’s–oh no,” Tanya says to herself. “I’ve just made this worse, haven’t I?”

She has, but Rosie’s mouth is too full of honey cake to tell her so.

“All right,” Tanya says, “that’s fine, we don’t need him–on to the next one, yes?”

“No!” Rosie forces out, around the cake. “No more boys.”

Tanya frowns at her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Rosie says decisively. “Extremely sure. I am extremely average looking and I have made my peace with that fact, and I have no interest in being openly rejected by any more attractive young men! Now, if it’s quite alright with you, I would just like to keep eating my feelings until I can no longer physically move.”

Tanya appears to be deliberating about something; having a conversation with herself inside her own head. It’s very strange to see her so visibly thinking, Rosie realizes. Even when she was coming top of all her classes at Oxford, Tanya did her very best to never actually _look_ like she was thinking about anything substantial.

But here she is now, brow furrowed like a Rodin and not a care in the world for the wrinkles it might give her in twenty years. Truly, a miracle.

“So, can I–” Rosie begins.

“No!” Tanya cuts her off. “No. I’ve solved this.”

“Solved it?”

“Come on,” Tanya says, “let’s go back to Donna’s decrepit old farmhouse. I have a better plan.”

Rosie follows her, but shoves the remaining three honey cakes in her mouth as she goes. She has a feeling she’s going to need it.

That feeling comes true when, after they wind their way up the hill and delicately tap their way up the collapsed stairs into the bedroom, Tanya takes her hand and places it gently on Rosie’s cheek, drawing her closer.

“Hello,” Rosie says nervously, “I–what are you doing?”

“Trying again,” Tanya says, and kisses her.

It’s not a bad kiss, not at all; it’s more than a little awkward, because Rosie had been the furthest thing imaginable from expecting it, but it’s still–well–

Tanya’s hands are icy cold on her face but her lips are soft and warm and gentle; she’s not aggressive with her tongue the way some guys are, Rosie thinks, she’s just firm and assured and it’s _nice_.

It’s nice until Rosie remembers that this is Tanya, one of her best friends, and that this isn’t–they don’t _do_ this. This isn’t how they are. This isn’t–

“Tanya!” she says, shocked, pulling back.

“Yes, Rosie?” Tanya purrs, and it’s honestly a bit of a shock to have that voice used on her for once. She’s heard it before, obviously, several times that day alone, but always directed outward, always directed towards some poor unsuspecting man, while Rosie would have to stand by, watching him become entranced by Tanya. This time she’s the one on the receiving end of Tanya’s charm, dialed up to full blast, and she suddenly feels a pang of pity for all the men that have been trapped in it. They never had a _chance_ , she thinks wildly, not even _half_ one, and then Tanya is kissing her again.

There were reasons not to do this, Rosie knows there were, but she can’t quite remember them all with Tanya pressed up against her body, smelling like expensive perfume and cheap flowers and fresh sea air, overwhelming and lovely.

“Wait,” Rosie pants out eventually, “why are you kissing me?”

“Like I said,” Tanya says, “It’s my plan.”

“Your _plan_?”

“To convince you you’re beautiful,” Tanya explains. “I figured–why bother looping a guy into it? We don’t need a middleman. I can just get straight to the point, which is: I think you’re gorgeous, and I want you to believe me.”

“But–”

“You’re beautiful,” Tanya says, “you _are!_ ”

Rosie doesn’t know how to deal with this, she just doesn’t. Nobody has ever told her that before, not in so many words. She’s plain, she _knows_ she is, that’s why she never bothers to fuss with styling her hair or elaborate makeup like Tanya does. She doesn’t mind being plain, not anymore; she’s not thrilled with how she looks, but she’s willing to own it, embrace it, and move forward without wasting too much brain space on it.

But now Tanya is just looking at her, and smiling, and being _nice_ , and it’s just too much.

“You don’t have to do this,” Rosie says, hot tears unexpectedly pricking the back of her eyes. “I didn’t ask you to do this.”

“I know,” Tanya says blithely, “I wanted to!”

Rosie feels a mortified tear slip out. “You don’t need to lie to me like this,” she says, voice breaking, “it’s–it’s really cruel, Tanya. I hate lying.”

“Oh,” Tanya says, horrified, seeing Rosie’s tears, “no, no, _darling_ –it’s not a lie, it’s not a joke, I’m not making fun–”

“Then why–”

“I really do like you!” Tanya says. “It’s not just to prove a point, it’s not just some–it’s not some stupid lesson, it’s because I _want_ to kiss you–”

“What?”

“I like you,” Tanya tells her, eyes wide, “I really, _really_ like you, you’re my best friend and I just think you’re so, so brilliant and I just want everyone in the world to agree with me.”

Rosie bites her lip, unwilling to believe what she’s hearing, but kind of–a little bit– _desperately_ wanting to.

“You do?”

“I do,” Tanya agrees. “I like your stupid practical hair and your stupid practical clothes and the way your nose crinkles up when you laugh; I like your hands and your eyes and –oh, I don’t know, Rosie, I just like everything!”

“I like you too,” Rosie says, shy. “I mean. As a friend, of course, you’re my best friend, but also–”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Tanya says hopefully.

“Of course I think you’re pretty! I’m not blind!”

“Well, you can never be sure–”

“If you want to kiss me,” Rosie cuts her off, “then … then I’m okay with that. I want to kiss you too.”

“So do it,” Tanya says, and raises an eyebrow.

Rosie does.

She doesn’t bother being as gentle as Tanya had been. She just gets her mouth on Tanya’s and her hands in her hair and kisses her, desperately, shocked by her own boldness but too overwhelmed to slow herself down. She feels consumed by her own emotions and dizzy from lack of air. There’s a sudden, shocky feeling deep in the pit of her stomach and her entire body just calling out for more, more, _more._

Tanya’s ridiculous yellow hat, which has somehow stayed on her head this whole time, finally goes tumbling off as Rosie pushes her hands deeper into her hair, falling lightly to the floor.

Tanya laughs. “Trying to undress me?”

And now _that’s_ a thought, and Rosie feels herself blushing yet again, her eyes unwittingly drawn to the truly decrepit bed against the far wall.

“Oh wait,” Tanya says, delighted, “you _are_ , aren’t you!” She doesn’t wait for an answer, but takes a step back and simply pulls at the tie of her wrap dress until it’s slipping off her shoulders and then Tanya is standing there, in the middle of the dim, dusty room, in only her underwear.

Rosie’s mouth goes dry.

“Well?” Tanya says, and from any other girl it would be shyness but from Tanya it’s a challenge, and Rosie takes it.

Kissing Tanya is better than kissing any boy has ever been, _ever_. Rosie has always found kissing to be more boring than anything else; she’s always spent the whole time thinking about how much longer she had to do this, wondering if she was doing it right, wishing her mouth didn’t hurt so much. It’s not like that with Tanya. With Tanya she gets the butterflies in her stomach she’d always been promised by romance novels and Disney movies, and it feels like her whole body is melting.

This probably means something; it probably means something _important_ , but she can’t think about that right now. Right now, all she can do is kiss Tanya.

Tanya grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her in closer, walks her backward towards the bed, and Rosie’s heart is in her throat but all she can think is, _“yes.”_ And then the backs of Tanya’s knees are hitting the mattress and they’re tumbling down together, until Tanya is lying flat on her back and Rosie is hovering over her.

“Take this off, already,” Tanya says, tugging at Rosie’s floral tunic, slipping her hands underneath and trying to push it over Rosie’s head. Rosie helps her out, sliding out of the shirt. She would usually feel vulnerable in just her bra, but Tanya has seen her like this hundreds of times already; they’ve shared a room for three years, after all.

Still, it feels different. It feels different, now, in the still hot air of the dusty bedroom, with an unspoken promise hanging in the space between them. It feels different because while Tanya has seen her in various states of undress over the years, she’s never looked at Rosie like this, with fire in her eyes. She’s never _touched_ Rosie like this, either; sure, they’ve never shied away from contact, but Tanya’s got her hands on Rosie’s waist and their legs tangled together and it’s all done with intent, the sort of intent that has never showed up before, no matter how close they ever were.

“Can I touch you?” Tanya asks, voice breathy, and all Rosie can do is nod frantically as Tanya takes a hand and skates it up her side, slipping her thumb under the fabric of Rosie’s bra and brushing a thumb across her nipple before bringing both hands behind her back and unfastening the clasp.

“Oh!” Rosie gasps as her bra falls away and Tanya cups both her breasts in her hands, rolling her nipples in her fingers for a long moment before pausing.

“This isn’t working for me,” Tanya says, and Rosie briefly feels like she’s had the wind knocked out of her and then Tanya is sitting up, grabbing her by the shoulders, manhandling her until they’re flipped and Rosie is flat on her back, staring up at Tanya’s silhouette as she leans over her.

“Yes,” Tanya says, “that’s better,” and then she leans down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to Rosie’s nipple, sucking gently before scraping her teeth across it with the lightest imaginable pleasure, and it suddenly feels like a bolt of electricity is sparking down Rosie’s spine from her neck all the way to her feet.

“Is that good?” Tanya asks, but she doesn’t wait for Rosie’s panted out answer before she’s kissing a line down her breasts to her stomach and then further, unfastening her shorts and pulling them off.

She bends down and then does something completely unexpected, putting her mouth between Rosie’s legs and then–

_Oh._

Rosie has never felt this way before, wanton and desperate and shaking. Her hips keep canting upward involuntarily, until Tanya puts an arm over her hips and presses her firmly into the mattress, pinning her in place as she licks deeper.

“Wait,” Rosie pants out eventually, “you too,” and pulls Tanya off and up to kiss her again, tasting herself in her mouth, before she takes a shaking hand and presses it between Tanya’s legs, feels the heat of her through her damp panties. Tanya shudders, just a little, and kisses her harder as Rosie takes her fingers and slides them under the fabric, feeling the wetness there before rubbing a tight circle around Tanya’s clit.

She continues like that, instinct taking over as she watches Tanya’s face, watches the way her eyelashes flutter and the way she bites her lip until eventually she’s shuddering, falling apart and coming, just like that.

They lie there for a long moment, Rosie still buzzing with arousal, until Tanya catches her breath again and moves her hand back between Rosie’s legs, slipping two fingers inside her, and she was already so near the edge that after barely a minute she’s coming, clenching around Tanya’s fingers, gasping for breath as every nerve ending in her body feels like it’s sparking to life.

They lie there together for a long moment, not saying anything, just lying there breathing together, until Rosie sits up and grabs the moth-eaten quilt from the foot of the bed, tugging it over them and then they fall asleep, holding each other.

Rosie wakes up gradually, drifting from deep slumber into quiet awareness as the bright Greek sunshine peeks in through the open window frame. Tanya’s arms are wrapped around her waist; her head rests on Rosie’s shoulder.

“Good morning,” Tanya says.

“Good morning,” Rosie replies. “That was…”

“...something,” Tanya finishes. “I’m not sure what, but it was _something_.”

“So what now?” Rosie asks softly.

“I don’t know,” Tanya says, equally softly. “I don’t want this to change anything.”

“Me neither,” Rosie says, although it’s half a lie. She doesn’t want to lose their friendship, but she doesn’t really want to go back to the way things were before, either, not really.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Tanya continues, “but I know it’ll all work out.”

“We’ll still be friends, though,” Rosie says, plaintive, “right?”

“Always,” Tanya says, “always, darling. We’ll be the best of friends until we die.”


End file.
